


Marijuana Mishap

by wallowedswallow



Category: Original Work
Genre: Caring, College, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Don't Like Don't Read, F/F, Non-Consensual Spanking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallowedswallow/pseuds/wallowedswallow
Summary: Told from the point of view of a punished girl. No characters have names, it's left vague on purpose. I made this for myself but I thought I could share.  F/F. All characters are over 18. No sex involved. Don't Like? Don't Read.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Reader/Undisclosed
Kudos: 24





	Marijuana Mishap

I sit in stale silence, the air is heavy, or maybe it’s nothing but an allusion concocted by my nervousness. The silence is aggravating, seeping into every cell of my being, threatening to explode in mass apoptosis. The silence is deafening. It bangs against my eardrums as an alarm clock reverberates through the dawn. I want the silence to end, but when it does I must face my retribution. She will come. I will be punished. Her presence never fails to shrink me down, her giant hands toying with my ego. Yet, I know she loves me. This unfortunate fact makes all her disappointment exponentially more bruising.  
The deafening silence is interrupted, leaving me conflicted. I am no longer suffering at the hands of silence but will be suffering at the hands of another. I might as well get this over with. There is no avoiding her swift and stinging justice. Large Oak Knocks reverberate through the heavy silence. My lungs seem to fail me. I can not speak. I roar, waiting for the walls around me to crumble, “Come in”, yet what escapes from my throat is more like a meow. The brass doorknob turns, the paralyzing silence is replaced by the drumbeat of my heart.  
She enters. She’s statuesque as if she’s the reincarnation of an ancient greek art piece. Her toned legs are tightly hugged by a pair of jeans, secured to her hips by a thick, brown belt. Her red blouse hangs loosely over her torso. Half of her long blonde hair is swept neatly into a ponytail, while the other half lays over her shoulders. Her eyes are blue, yet are covered with a layer of icy disappointment. I’m sitting on my bed, nervously fidgeting my fingers. This is happening.  
She says nothing as she strides towards me. She’s always been a woman of little words, so when she speaks, the whole room stops and listens. She sits next to me on my bed. The change in weight on the mattress lifts me slightly higher. Her shoulder touches mine. I’m afraid she can hear my unruly heartbeat.  
“Do you know why I’m here”, she asks. Her voice is deep and rich, with hints of an English accent behind her words.  
I refuse to make eye contact. “I did something wrong”, I whisper, my face down towards my lap.  
“Look at me, please”, She requests, yet we both know it is a command. I swallow my pride and look at her face. She’s beautiful, flawless. She is my antithesis. I am very much flawed. I can’t help notice the disappointment in her eyes. Maybe that’s the worst part of the punishment.  
“Now what exactly was your transgression”, she queries. Her head cocks slightly to the left as she asks.  
“I smoked weed in the dorms and tried to leave campus”, I quickly respond. It sounds dumber now that I say it out loud.  
“Why was that the wrong choice”. She asks.  
“It’s against the rules. I could’ve been hurt”, I follow. Embarrassment rises to the tips of my cheeks.  
“You most definitely could have been hurt. Marijuana inhibits your decision-making skills. What if I wasn’t able to stop you from leaving campus. What if you got into a situation you couldn’t get out of. You could have been raped or even killed. I never want to see you hurt, but I can’t always be there to babysit you” She scolds, steeling her tone. Her brows dip in anger.  
“I’m sorry”. The words escape my mouth as a pathetic whimper. I know I did wrong. I know I must submit to punishment to forgive myself.  
She gracefully stands up and pulls my wooden, armless desk chair from its resting place. She positions it in the center of the room. She sits down on the wooden chair and her beacons me over with her thin fingers. I stand on her right side, her eyes penetrate my soul.  
“Pull these down”, she instructs as she taps the side of my jean-clad legs. I know better to delay or disobey. I fumble with the orange clasp of my jeans and pull them down to my ankles. I’m humiliated.  
“Good Girl. Over my knee now”. I relax under the praise and lay my body over her lap. I feel her thighs shift under the pressure. The blood starts to rush towards my head.  
“What are my rules, honey”, she says as she rests her hand atop the small of my back  
“No reaching back, No excessive squirming, No begging”. She doesn’t say anything so I must have been correct.  
She starts rhythmically spanking me. Her sharp palm builds a warm, red sting on my upturned bottom. It’s embarrassing. After about five minutes I start to squirm. Maybe a little too much. She smacks my thigh. Hard. “Stop Squirming so much”. She scolds  
“It hurts”, a whine slips out of my mouth.  
She answers with three more hard swats to my thigh. “It’s. Supposed. To.”  
“Get up”. I don’t know what she’s planning. I know it’s too early to stop.  
“Get me your hairbrush,” She says succinctly, I put in an effort to avoid rolling my eyes. I stand up and touch my bottom, taking in its glowing heat. I open a drawer and pull out a wooden hairbrush and hand it to her.  
“Thank you. Back over my lap, please”. I slowly lower myself back to my doom. She rests her hand on the small of my back. The sharp wooden impact surprises me. I seem to always forget how much the unassuming object hurts.  
The wooden brush acts as kindling to the fire growing on the surface of my bottom. I beg the salty tears welling up in my eyes not to fall.  
“I’m Sorry”, I whimper.  
She stops for a moment. “I know. I want to make sure this never happens again”. “Stand Up”. I pray it’s over. I look into her blue eyes. Some of the ice has melted.  
“What you did was dangerous. I could have lost you”  
Guilt starts flooding through every fiber of my being. “I’m sorry. I know what I did was wrong. I scared you” I say, the tears finally overcome my will and cascade down my flushed cheeks.  
“I know, but I want to make sure you remember this”. “Bend over your bed”.  
I’ve never had this happen before. What is going on in that beautiful mind of hers?  
I bend over my bed, I can’t see what she’s doing.  
“I know I’ve never been this harsh, but I think the circumstances warrant it. You’re going to taste my belt. Fifteen and then you’re done”  
I hear her unloop her belt from her waist. She rests the cold leather on my bottom. The coolness feels good, though I know it won’t feel good momentarily. She swings the belt up and it lands squarely on my bottom. It hurts. More than anything. I don’t think I can take fourteen more. She reprises her performance.  
“Ahh”, I uncontrollably yell out  
“It has quite the sting, doesn’t it?” She asks rhetorically  
Ten more stinging welts form on my bruised bottom. The tears a freely flowing. Partially from the pain, partially from my guilt.  
“I’m going to go harder on these last three.”  
I brace my self. Three hard hits in quick succession. I know I’ll have bruises for the next couple of days.  
“Shh, Shh, You’re done now. You did so well. I’m proud of you”, she softly praises  
She starts rubbing circles on the small of my back.  
“You can get up whenever you’re ready.”  
I slowly raise my body from the bed. The change in position irritates my bottom. I pull my underwear up. My pants have long been kicked off.  
The ice in her eyes completely melted. She pulls me into a hug. I can smell the perfume on her neck. She holds me. She won’t let go until I do.  
“I’m so proud of you. I love you so much,” I feel safe. Wanted. I start crying again.  
I never want to leave her arms, yet I pull back.  
A smile creeps onto her lips. She wipes my tears with the back of her hand and kisses me on the top of my forehead.  
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.  
“I know, and you are forgiven. The slate is clean.”


End file.
